will, were obliged to like him, and they found him altogether an exceedingly merry and agreeable youth. Mr. Weston’s mother, and the rest of his family were in Europe, so that Arthur was the only one of his near relatives to whom the Barlows were able to offer much hospitality. Brenda from the first moment took a fancy to the nonchalant young man, who seemed so absolutely confident of everything he said, and who was not for a moment discomfited by the fact that he was the only Yale man in a company that included many Harvard graduates.
On their first arrival at the house Mr. and Mrs. Weston took their place at one end of the long sitting-room that had been prepared for them, under the bell of flowers that had been hung there in their honor. But after a time, Agnes announced that she was very tired of this formality, and that if every one would excuse her, she would move about with the rest of the company.
“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said to-day,” exclaimed the new husband, with a sigh of relief. He, too, had grown very tired of the unnatural position of standing up (“like the President,” he had complained) to have his hand shaken. “We must stay a certain length of time,” Agnes had said when his first objections reached her ear,—“An uncertain time,” he had rejoined, “and the day is growing rather warm—for September.”
“Oh, well, it would n’t do to leave this place until we have received all the older guests,” Agnes had added. “As artists, we are naturally regarded with more or less
